Tim II

Could anything be more American than a diner? He wondered. He decided that the stereotypical American cafe is trans-median. They appear so consistently in American movies, TV shows, and even songs that are then spread throughout the global community like buckshot. In their regaling imagery they have the staples. 

The coffee pot, endlessly pouring that drug that is so welcomed here. (He never understood how caffeine was dandy but opium clubs became so frowned upon?). All the waitresses have that overworked underpaid attitude. The plates of food are slid to your seat whether you are sitting at the sticky bar watching a bearded man cook your eggs and wishing he had a hairnet under his chin as well, or at your booth where the upholstered seats have that one hole in them where a small child kept wedging their fingers deeper and deeper. All the stereotypes he found… were true. For the most part they were present across every real cafe on every real corner in every American town. And each one had the world's best flapjacks. 

The man next to him smiled as his meal was placed in front of him, he then thanked the waitress as she filled his mug with a cup-o’-joe. It was a simple meal for a seemingly simple man. The big trucker fellow had three strips of bacon, two eggs, toast, and soggy hash browns pressed on top of a thick cut of browned ham. A meal easy to do at home. But it wasn’t about the food, or the service. Cafes in whatever story you are consuming, are always about the atmosphere. It’s like church for Americans. Spiritual. And you could put a lone cafe on jupiter and an American town would appear around it. 

He was also seated in a creaking spinning stool at the countertop. His hat was in front of him where a plate should be along with silverware and his coffee. But he didn’t drink. And he wasn’t hungry and no one wanted to greet him. He stroked the feather plume from his hat’s band with his long fingers. He did it absentmindedly. Staring at the door. He was ignored by the waitress as well. It was clear that he was waiting for someone and it was obviously not her. But as he waited his eyes kept crawling to the truck driver next to him. His rotund frame consumed the small stool he rested on. He was drawn to the way he shoved his eggs into his smacking maw with yolk spilling everywhere and dripping onto the counter. The man with the feather in his hat noted how on massive bites he placed an oil stained thumb on top to hold the food to the fork. 

Greedy little pig. 

It was amusing to say the least. Disgusting might be a better word. But entertaining is the one the man settled on. He thought it was savage, and that made him grin, slightly. And in this man’s feasting he looked like the true ancestors of humans. Back then they were beasts. Still are. But now it is harder to see, covered up in a flowery veil, but when the chips were down… When people get hungry. That’s a feeling that brings everyone back to their basics. It was lovely.

But it might not be hunger. The truck driver could just be in a hurry. The man eyed him. Trying to figure out which it was. Maybe he was rushing home to a family? But he knew he wasn’t married. No wedding ring could be seen on his finger. But still that could be explained away. It could be lost. Or put away. Many people didn’t wear their wedding bands for many reasons. Some nefarious, perhaps. Not wearing one while on the road made it seem it could go in that direction. It was apparent the man was traveling, as it was his job. His big rig truck was parked down the block. Taking up the majority of the street in front of a mom and pop bookstore that was always on a going out of business sale. The man with the hat had watched him walk from his cab and into this cafe (the only distinguishable feature that marked it from any other cafe was there was a plastic and plaster UFO above the door).

Insipid.  

The trucker could be in a hurry for lots of reasons. Something mundane, like he was just running behind schedule. He could live here and be in a hurry to get on the road, maybe to visit his other family? Oh, that’s juicy. Or maybe he hated the feeling of static earth under his toes. Maybe he was a loner and hated cityscapes. Or perhaps he just has IBS. There were so many possibilities and that’s what excited the man with the hat. Things like that interested him, drew him into others. He smiled, an odd thing, rarely appearing on his face. 

But then he realized that most likely the trucker was just a pig. A classless buffoon. He recalled that of all the possibilities and outcomes in a person's life, there was only really one they were rushing to. 

He sighed. They always let you down in the end. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a motion of a suit entering the cafe. 

The bell on the door did not chime as the man wearing said suit entered the room. He found that that was often the case when he met with Mr. Lucien. A forgettable face behind brandless sunglasses. A blacks suit and black tie, and shiny black shoes that shone with the same fervor as his slicked back black hair. He looked like a secret service agent. Or like one someone dreamed up. 

Lucien entered and stiffly walked to a booth across from the bar top and by the window to sit down. The bell chimed behind him as he strode. 

The man placed the hat on his head, dragging his finger across the felt brim. He swiveled to face the rest of the cafe. Then he leaned over. Talking to the man next to him. “You best chew your food. You might choke on it.” 

“Hmm.” The trucker said, his mouth full of hashbrowns and bits of ham. Ketchup leaked from the side of his mouth.

He eyed the trucker. But it seems that was the extent of this conversation. He delicately placed his feet on the ground and almost danced off the stool. He meandered to the booth and sat opposite the man in the crisp suit but still able to see his friend at the countertop. 

He regarded Mr. Lucien. “You are looking sharp as ever. It’s been sometime, I think?” He placed his hands, palms flat on the table. “Pleasure to work with you again, it is always entertaining.” He bowed slightly.

“Why is it you wanted to meet?” The man spoke. His face was emotionless. 

The wait staff were busy. Trying to pawn off the new guests that arrived on each other, they seemed busy with the few people in here.

“I picked up someone while in Phoenix. A crazy fellow. He seems to be coming after me.” He paused trying to see any emotion on Lucien's face. Nothing. People do disappoint, don't they?

“And me?” 

“Can you get rid of him? I have so many plans and it’s not our time to meet. Not out here. Not yet.” He looked out the window frowning, showing the heavy lines chiseled on his face from doing so so often. He turned back and watched him think. Then over his shoulder he saw the trucker man pause. He paused and coughed. 

“I think I can. Will he be coming this way?” Mr. Lucien asked. 

He was only kind of paying attention now. “Very soon. He is desperate but I think he has my trail. We are linked him and I. Very close.” He said this but he still watched the truck driver who stood up, he did so fast, his face red with blood. He was coughing some more but no sound was coming out. His coors light ball cap fell lamely to the floor as his brushed it off the countertop with jerky motion. . 

Mr. Lucien thought then nodded. “I can, I’ll stay put and wait.” Lucien was ignoring the commotion. Although most people were. The chef and a small boy with his family were the only ones to see the truck driver push to the bathroom. The door to it groaned with each swing like an old man would. The truck driver disappeared through it. 

“Good.” The man with the hat said. And that was that. It was decided. Mr. Lucien would figure out this business behind him. He was not a great conversationalist anyways. So he must get a move on. His schedule was calling to him, he would not fall behind. Firstly, he stood up and followed his new acquaintance. 

The bathroom door swung open and he saw the man over the sink. The two stalls empty, the urinal a mess with piss. It was just the two of them in here. The trucker was grasping his neck with one hand, banging on his chest with the other. He was convulsing, coughing. No sound was coming out as he struggled. His face was now purple. The veins along his neck bulged and twitched. His eyes were bloodshot. They turned over to him as he entered. He pressed forward. Begging for help, both hands going to his neck in the sign of choking. 

“Now, I don’t know what you want?” The man said, holding his feathered hat to his chest, apologetic like.

The man fell down on one knee. His shaking hand stretched out to the door. Sweat was bursting from his brow.

“You want some help?” He crouched down and raised the man’s chin to meet his gaze.

The man nodded rapidly.

“I tried to help you earlier... But you didn’t listen. One must always pay attention. A hungry man is a dangerous one. No?” He placed a shoe on the man's shoulder and pushed him down. The man sprawled out with little resistance, his face flat on the ground. His air ceasing. He shuddered. A golden puddle appeared around him and the bathroom smelt even stronger of urine. He was now tinged with blue, from his fingertips to his lips. 

He sighed at the sight. “But more often than not, they are most dangerous to themselves.” He finished speaking, alone once more. He felt the body go limp under his boot. It started twitching meekly. 

He grabbed the wallet out from the man's pocket and opened the cracked leather. “Aw.” he said to himself. “A family man.” He placed the photo in his interior hat lining. “How boring.” He threw the wallet back onto the man before leaving. He went out of the bathroom and out of the cafe. The last thing he heard was the boy screaming. 

Tucson II Part II

I paced around my sweltering room. The cheap motel would not be pleased to find Chewy had destroyed one of their pillows. He sat in his bed of fluff and destruction proudly. Flipping over on his back and showing his belly when I scolded him. His eyes wide with surprise. In his mind I should be proud of his achievement.

He groaned and plodded up to me and licked at my sweaty calf as I played with the air conditioner set into the wall under the window. It would not go any lower than 80 degrees. 

“Blasted thing.” I said as I shook it and gave up. I started pacing once more. Finally flopping into the pleather chair across from the tube tv. The back of my arms were instantly glued to the arm rest. I sunctionedd myself off it and leaned forward. It gave me the willies. Like I was more velcro than man. My fingers strummed on my temples, my head was pounding. I should have definitely stayed at the hospital a couple more nights, but I couldn’t risk letting Tim slip away. But how would I find him?

“He met with him, Chewy.”

My dog was investigating the small trash can, where I had stuffed the remains of the pillow down into. It overflowed with white stuffing like it was a comic strip bubble bath. When he heard me say his name he froze, side eyeing me. Acting like I couldn’t see his mischief if he stayed still. I tapped him with my big toe to get him away from it. He nipped at me in return. 

“Sometimes I wish you could talk little doggy. Are you gonna help me out here or just cause more trouble?” 

He relented and hopped up onto the bed with a groan. I imagined his little pen and paper out. “Ok, here we go,” I said, trying to figure out my thoughts. “Tim was there! Hodges described him how I remembered him… I think. It had to be him. Had to be! He’s been scoping out homes. Serial burglar I think, or killer. But he didn’t kill anyone this time? Or did he? Maybe he set them up?” Chewy started licking his balls with a fervor.

“Ew. Stop that.” I rolled him onto his back and he froze again, legs up into the air.

“Let’s think of the timeline. Tim himself broke into our home in Phoenix. Then he moved southeast. To Tucson, just a week later. This time working in tandem with the two scabs. Thing One and Thing Two we’ll call them. But this time, something went wrong. Or something, I don’t know what happened exactly. They pissed him off. He warned Hodges by impersonating a security salesman... Impersonating.” I rolled that word around my head. “Impersonating. He said Marigold security, right? 

I pulled up my phone and turned it on. It started vibrating immediately. Messages and missed phone calls exploded onto my screen. I ignored them. A quick search and I had the number for the company. Marigold. Based in Tucson. 

It’s real?

Before I knew what I was doing my phone had dialed it and I was waiting for customer service to answer. . “Hello this is Marigold Security thank you for calling customer service. Is this an emergency?”

“Uh. Yes! Well no not really. I guess?” 

“Ok, thank you for holding.” She clicked the phone and I was met with elevator music. A crackling and static orchestra of some kind.  My phone was still buzzing at me. Rings going off about all the messages I had. Chewy twisted his head at the noise. It perturbed him. He started with a low rumbling growl into a short high pitched squeaky bark.

“Stop that” I hissed at him. He ignored me.

The music cut out. 

“Hello Marigold customer service.” A new male voice said. 

“Hello! I had a question about one of your door to door salesman?” I said. Chewy was still huffing around the room.

“Sorry, could you say that one more time? I hear bells and whistles going off.” He said and followed it up with a disconcerting chuckle. 

“A salesperson came to my door!” I raised my voice.

“A service person! Alright let me transfer you to the service department.” There was a click and music and then someone picked up before it crossed my mind to tell him no.

This time I was greeted by a deep smokers voice. “Hello this is the service department of Marigold security whatcha looking for?” He asked.

“Well. I’m inquiring after someone.” I said

“Right.” He coughed. “Who installed your system and what weren’t you happy about? I’ll reprimand them and we can get you a discount on the coming months' fee.” He sniffed.

“Not exactly.” I gathered my thoughts. 

“Man you are popular,” He stated, hearing the noises from this hectic room. “What kind of dog you got?” He asked.

“One that’s gonna be at the pound if he doesn’t shut up!” I jumped in front of Chewy as he was doing his little tear-around the room barking at every corner. “Anyways, I had a salesperson come to my door. A man with a wide brim hat… he had a feather in it. I’d like to talk to him. He works for you right?”

“So nothing was installed?” He asked

“No.”

“You want the sales department then, I'll transfer you.”

“Thank you.” I thumbed my belly button and pulled out some lint, I let it drift to the floor. 

More music. This time for a long long time. My phone was now only buzzing. No more chimes. Chewy settled down a bit and the hair on the back of his neck settled. 

“Hello, Marigold Security customer service.” It was the first woman's voice. 

“Oh.” I said. “I was supposed to be transferred to the sales department.”

“Well then, I can do that, not a problem.” Click to that same damn elevator music again. I could almost recite the overtures and each crackle of static that accompanied it that ruined the crescendos with their echoes. Finally as I was conducting my fake orchestra the phone clicked over again.

A surly woman answered. “Sales department!”

“Sales department!” I reaffirmed.

“Sales department?” She asked, confused.

“Wait, this is the sales department right?”  

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m looking for a man who came by my house. An individual who didn’t leave his card. Or I... uh, lost it. I wanted to speak to him.”

She took a deep breath. “Ok. we are a smallish operation. We hire a lot of day trekkers to do sales on their own time. Can you give me a name?” 

“I can’t. Unfortunately.” At that moment a knock on my door came. Three raps. I looked at Chewy as his fur raised up again on the back of his neck. His eyes widened. He started to growl. 

“Don’t.” I whispered to him.

The voice came from outside the door. “This is the manager, do you have a dog in here? We are getting reports of barking. No pets are allowed in the rooms.”

I stuck my hand out to Chewy who was holding himself back best he could. “One minute.” I whispered to the phone.

I spoke out loud, muting my phone. “Ummm. I don’t.” I started to shift to Chewy, who had stood up and was stalking to the door. Low growls vibrating out. Finally whatever dam he had in place broke. He shot forward jumping to the door. Barking and howling. He hopped around excited that we had a visitor. Over the racket the manager spoke. “Ok sir I really don’t believe you! I need you out here right now!”

I went back to my phone conversation, yelling over everything else. “I would like to talk to him! He has a hat that has a feather in it!”

She laughed before answering. “Sir, I’m not sure about the employees' particular style when out doing runs. I assume lots wear hats. Can you look for a card and call us back? It sounds like you are busy over there.”

“NO! Please! He is a tall man. I know he’s a man. How many men do you employ?” I said desperately.

“As of recently quite a few, should I connect you to their work cells? You could go down the list, I guess.”

I quickly looked around the room from a pencil and paper, and only found a pen and the bible in the top drawer. I uncapped the pen and flipped to a random page. I hesitated. I guess I was trying to kill a man, it's not like this is worse. But still it felt blasphemous. I threw the pen at the pounding at the door. “Go away!” I yelled realizing I hadn’t muted my phone.

The manager pounded at the door again. “That’s it. You have to leave now. You are in violation of our policies and your credit card is gonna be charged. If you don’t come out right now, I'm calling the police!”

“Excuse me?” The woman on the phone said.

“Sorry!” I said to both of them. Then I turned back to the phone conversation “Maybe I should call you back?” I asked. The commotion was getting to me.

“Yeah, you think?” She said. “I can give you the list but look for that card. If you have a name it won't waste everyone’s time…” I thought for a second. I kind of had a name. Well. One I made up…

“Tim?” I said my face twisting in stupidity that I even said it out loud. There was silence on the other line.

“Oh. Tim!” She said while laughing. “You met our top salesman! That makes sense he does have a funky style now that you mention it! Yes sir I can transfer him to you. He should be on his route right now.” She paused. “Actually. Hold on. His work phone is off right now. He is on vacation. That's right he left on the 12th. He should be back on… Let’s see here. The 22nd, so next week. Should I take a message?”

My eyes narrowed. I sat down on the hard mattress. “Ummm.” I looked to the door that was now cracked open. The lockchain was taut from the door to the frame. The small bodied manager stood there in the crevice, peering in. He recoiled as he saw Chewy growling only five feet in front of him. “That’s it.” He spoke shakily. “I’m calling the police saying your dog is aggressive.” He shut it and stormed off. I shrugged. My eyes were shaky and the phone almost slipped from my sweaty palms. I felt like a bug in a spider's web. No idea what I was getting myself into but I could just see those long legs start to creep over me. I'm in a dangerous game here that I can't comprehend. This could not actually be the man I was looking for? Of all the occurrences in the world… His name was actually Tim? But maybe. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence. Remember the waystation and the tv that lead me here. “Actually… I’ll wait till he gets back. Can you tell me where he’s vacationing?”

She paused and giggled. “I don’t know that sir. He’s a funny fellow. In his email he said he’s going  UFO hunting.” I could hear her click around on her computer. “Okay! Sounds dandy! What was your name again?” She asked.

I hung up. Then I turned off my phone. My stomach twisted as I saw who was trying to reach me. 

They can wait. 

The only thing getting through to me was destiny. And now I had the best hunch where it was pushing me. This was all leading me somewhere. I had been at the right place at the right time too often. In waystations and on phone calls to perfectly follow this man. To trace him across the states. I was following these webs that crisscrossed through our lives silently, the ones ignored by so many. The strange strings behind luck, that you only realize have to be more when you pull on them. 

I gathered my things in a rush. 

The next minute we were on the road putting Tucson in the rear view. Money by pink floyd came on the tuner as I scanned the radio. It reminded me that I was lucky I had paid in cash upfront at the motel. If they followed through with the police thing, they only had my license plate to go on. 

Damn, I thought. I had been threatened with police twice today, by two different people. That was more than the usual amount for me. I turned my car east as the sun was setting behind me. I ignored its reflection like I was ignoring the box that rattled around in the back, now the weight of the revolver in my sweatpants pocket… that, I could not ignore. 

Ahead on the horizon I saw the beginning twinklings in that summer night sky, the stars were coming out. One glowed green and vanished. I hope that was the astrological sign of good luck. What a stupid fucking thought. 

I don’t have good luck. 

I have a guardian-fucking-angel on my shoulders whispering murder in my ear.